


Lighter

by arainbowofsorts



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Artist!Gerard - Freeform, But it's okay, Cafe AU, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Frerard, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, This is cute, Trust, a lil bit of angst, almost coffee shop au, as always, awkward!Gerard, gerard needs to get his shit together, ill add more tags as it goes along, probably, punk!frank, sweet!Frank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:51:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arainbowofsorts/pseuds/arainbowofsorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't blame Gerard for his lack of sociability. It wasn't his fault, really. Anyone who knew him personally could agree with sensible certainty that Gerard Way gets lost. Truly, he gets lost in the routine of his life, as comfortable and as familiar as the back of his hand. Strangely enough, it only takes one person, a person who had always really been there slipping under Gerard's radar, to break his trance irreversibly. That person is named Frank.</p><p>originally from my wattpad, arainbowofsorts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The light floating in through the window had a bluish tint, the kind that always reminded Gerard of the crispness of the air outside and of how grateful he was to be in the comfort of the indoors. Gerard usually preferred to sit in the booths or on the sagging couches of his favorite café ( _La Cocinita_ ), but sometimes he would pick a chair near the glass, where he could feel the cold seeping through like watercolor on paper. He watched his breath condense on the glass. He looked down and away, and pulled out his sketchbook.

  
Despite being a regular at _La Cocinita_ —in fact, with the luxury of working from home as an artist, a regular who visited the Mexican breakfast café nearly every day—Gerard hadn’t really gotten to know the staff well, or any of the other regulars, except for the owner of the place, Mrs. Moreno. You can’t blame Gerard for his lack of sociability. It wasn’t his fault, really. Anyone who knew him personally could agree with sensible certainty that Gerard Way gets lost.

  
That is not to say that he gets lost wandering down the street—although he does do that occasionally—No, Gerard gets lost in the way old leaves drift from branches of trees; He gets lost in the swirl of the cream he pours inside his daily coffee at the café, and the sharp taste of the breakfast enchilada Mrs. Moreno always insisted on serving him; He gets lost in the pages of his sketchbook, filling the paper from corner to corner, thought to thought, hour to hour as time drifts by. Truly, he gets lost in the routine of his life, as comfortable and as familiar as the back of his hand. When Mrs. Moreno called his name to inform him that the café was closing, he blinked up owlishly before walking home in the dark, falling into bed, and returning to _La Cocinita_ the next morning.

  
Gerard was shaken from his thoughts by the muted jangle of the bell half-stuck over the door of the café, alerting the staff to a new customer. With several pages of his sketchbook filled, Gerard had occupied the time up to late afternoon, only now noticing the other people moving and going about their lives in the café around him. Gerard looked up and saw the unremarkable back of the head of the newcomer, at the register of the café, and turned back to his sketchbook, hoping to fall back into his concentration.

  
“Hi Mrs. Moreno,” said the voice of the man, and Gerard frowned slightly, hashing a few dark lines across the paper.

  
“Hello, Frankie, hijito, what can I get for you?”

  
“The usual, and a piece of pan muerto if you have any.”

  
Gerard sighed and set down his pencil, his trance officially and irreversibly broken, avoiding internal melodrama as much as possible.

  
“Alright, then, you get the last of it. I’m surprised we have any left, considering the time.”

  
Gerard glanced out the window beside him, confirming what Mrs. Moreno had said. The blues of the morning had leaked out of the sky, replaced with delicate yellows that suggested it was close to a boring smoggy sunset. It was closer to closing time than Gerard had thought. He watched as Mrs. Moreno served the man personally, allowing the other two staff to untie their floury aprons and hang them on hooks by the kitchen. She handed him a plate with some sort of steaming quiche and a pastry and glanced at the clock.

  
“It is time to close but I can stay open a little bit longer for my two favorite customers,” Mrs. Moreno said, chuckling. Gerard glanced around the café, finding himself and the other man to be the only two left in the storefront. He wondered when he had become one of Mrs. Moreno’s favorites, and who this other man was to earn the same title.

  
“Thank you,” the man murmured, tucking into his food.

  
“Speaking of that, Gerard, soñador, it’s almost time to go,” she said, raising her voice and addressing Gerard this time. He mentally reminded himself to Google the meaning of that word, which had become something of a pet name for him. Gerard shuffled to clean up his table, pulling his sketchbook and pencils into his bag beside him, and arranging the dirty plates and mugs into a pile before taking them to Mrs. Moreno.

  
“Thank you, darling. Did you get any good work done today?” Mrs. Moreno asked, genuine curiosity coloring her naturally loving voice. Gerard made a noncommittal noise, too aware of the presence of the man behind him, still finishing up his food.

  
“Good, dear, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Frankie, are you all finished up yet?”

  
“Yes, thank you, delicious as always,” the man—Frankie—said, bringing his plate to the counter where Gerard and Mrs. Moreno were standing.

  
“Ay, thank you, always warms my heart to hear. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that compliments grow old, boys. Pues, I have to lock up now, but I’ll see you two tomorrow, eh? Gerard, don’t forget to get dinner. I can’t feed you every meal, however much I wish I could.”

  
“Will do, Mrs. Moreno,” Gerard mumbled, and shuffled out of the establishment with Frankie behind him. Mrs. Moreno puttered around with the dishes for a few more minutes before retreating to the back room and killing the lights. Gerard adjusted the strap of his bag, trying to force his thoughts into a relative order or at least wait for them to settle themselves, when he noticed Frankie still standing beside him, searching for something in his pockets.

  
“Hey—Gerard, right?” Frankie said distractedly. Gerard nodded hesitantly.

  
“Frankie?”

  
He snorted. “Frank is fine. The only people who call me Frankie are Mrs. Moreno and my Aunt Mary. Hey, I was going to ask though, do you happen to have a lighter on you? I can’t find mine.”

  
Gerard shook his head mutely. He didn’t want to say he didn’t smoke. Suddenly he felt like he was in high school again, watching a video about the dangers of drugs and peer pressure, but nonetheless unable to resist the internalized need to impress his more popular schoolmates.

  
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I probably left it at home,” Frank said, looking up at Gerard, and Gerard caught a glimpse of Frank’s face for the first time. Like a golden spotlight trickling down onto a stage, Frank’s beauty was suddenly illuminated, vibrant brown eyes, mischievously delicate lips pierced with a glinting ring, a black stripe of hair that fell careless like rain over his face. Gerard’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt slightly ridiculous, standing there in front of this gorgeous creature. Gerard scolded himself for being so _dramatic_ , even in his own thoughts.

  
“Alright, I should be going then. See you around.” And with that, Frank was gone, waving over his shoulder.

  
In a state of dubious consciousness, Gerard wandered in the direction of the supermarket to make good on his promise to have dinner, still unsure if what had just happened was real or a desert-like mirage induced by lack of social contact.

  
He piled a carton of milk, a pack of instant coffee, and several one-person meals from the freezer aisle into a basket, hooking it over his arm and waiting in line for the register. Night had officially fallen and the contrast between the dark evening and the stale overhead lights of the supermarket gave the place an apprehensive energy. The market was still, sleepy, and it itched vaguely at Gerard’s brain to do something impulsive and break the calm.

  
Gerard set his things on the belt and the cashier scanned the items as he fidgeted ineffectually. He mumbled his response to each of the woman’s questions and, as he was desperately avoiding eye contact, his sight landed on a small cardboard box perched next to the racks of gum in front of the checkout. In neat little rows, glinting and colored bright like an irresistible candy, stood dozens of cigarette lighters, tall and proud. They were fifty cents apiece. Gerard forced his gaze away, back to where the cashier was scanning his groceries, but found his eyes drawn inexorably back towards the lighters. A metaphor regarding moths and flames was disconcertingly appropriate.

  
One little black lighter stood out, hanging half out of the box, looking equal parts eager and abandoned. Blood thrumming in his ears, Gerard darted a hand out and grabbed the lighter. He set it on the belt before wiping his palms on his jeans.

  
“This, too, please,” he muttered, unexplainably nervous.

  
“No problem,” the cashier said, “Paper or plastic?”

  
Once back in his tiny apartment, Gerard leaned back against his door, rifled through the (paper) grocery bag until he felt smooth plastic, and let the rest of his groceries drop to the floor. A click, and the soft, startling light illuminated a crescent of his apartment, and Gerard’s face, with his hopeful eyes glinting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soñador means dreamer in Spanish :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's play a game--like find the hidden mickey, only find the hidden ryan ross. enjoy!

The next day began how all Gerard’s days began. He woke up in the solitude of his humble apartment, sifted through the sea of dirty clothes on his floor to find an acceptable outfit, and dutifully ignored his brother Mikey’s five irritated voicemails on his machine. It wasn’t that he was avoiding his brother, Gerard pondered as he made his way down to _La Cocinita._ His breath fogged in the air and his boots dislodged frost on the pavement. It was just that Mikey had the uncanny ability to tell when something in Gerard’s life needed meddling, and boy was he persistent. This time, the chosen subject was Gerard’s nonexistent love life, and Gerard was in no way ready or willing for such a conversation with his little brother.

The blessed warmth of the café greeted him as he made his entrance, followed by a little gust of powdery wind, and sat down again at the chair next to the window.

“Good morning, Gerard!” Mrs. Moreno called to him as he settled in, bustling over in her apron to set a plate of enchiladas and a coffee down on his table. The hot steam from both swirled upwards and mingled.

“Good morning,” he returned warmly, smiling in thanks, and Mrs. Moreno pinched his cheek before swishing away again. Gerard ate slowly, the food and drink heating his cold body from the inside.

Gerard’s thoughts drifted as he worked on concept sketches for his next big commission. It would be a large canvas piece, in acrylics, probably, and the commissioner (a semi-popular musician who felt the height of his popularity before he left his biggest band several years ago) had asked for something abstract and odd and spindly, with a lot of crows and red roses. The rest was up to Gerard. Luckily, oddness came easily to him, Gerard thought as he drew the gentle curves of one of the roses. Not so luckily, his oddness was not limited to his artwork and carried over into real life. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Mikey’s nagged at him about getting out there, spending some of his free time socializing instead of burying himself under a suffocating pile of comic books.

Gerard frowned at the paper in front of him and erased a few stray lines. There was nothing wrong with comic books. Comic books were an important facet of artistic expression and pushed the boundaries of what was considered literature in today’s society. Just like any other novel they reflected the human condition of the time. Any time Gerard tried to remind Mikey of the endless merits of comic books, however, he just shook his head at Gerard and told him he was derailing the conversation. Mikey already knew all that, Gerard, you’ve told him that countless times, Gerard, he believes you, Gerard, he’s talking about your love life here, Gerard.

Gerard sighed and scooted back in his chair, cringing at the croaking sound it made as the wooden chair legs scraped against the hard floor. His sketch was strange and dark and twisted and full of a considerable amount of angst. Good. His commissioner would love it. He rubbed his eyes, reorganized his pencils, and went back in with a 4B pencil to carve out shadows.

Gerard’s love life. He sighed again as niggling bits of self-pity settled themselves in his gut. As a greasy, shy artist who rarely used a washing machine and never went anywhere that wasn’t his café or his apartment, it was no surprise he hadn’t met anyone. He knew Mikey was probably onto something with the whole Getting Out There speech, but every time Mikey dragged him out to one of his alcohol-scented multicolored bass-shaken parties, Gerard was overwhelmed with a violent awkwardness and shyness that was probably the result of his insecurity and lack of contact with others. It was a vicious cycle. Gerard couldn’t help but blame himself, so instead of dwelling on it for too long, he just directed his annoyance at Mikey for bringing it up in the first place.

Gerard bet Frank didn’t have this problem. Frank was undeniably attractive, and not in a forgettable, conventional way either—he had a certain graceful beauty, almost feminine in certain places but balanced by harder edges in other places, that made Gerard’s fingers itch to draw him. He had to stop himself from channeling the arch of Frank’s eyebrows into the flowers he was drawing. Frank probably had an equally attractive girlfriend and had no time for greasy loser artists who accidentally drew him all over his commission.

“Hey Mrs. Moreno!”

Speak of the Devil—or, more accurately, angel, Gerard thought when he looked up from his drawing to see Frank walk up to the counter, dusted in fine snow and glowing red from the cold. Frank smiled at him when he passed by and Gerard jumped and instantly looked down. He cringed at the jagged black lightning made by the jerk of the pencil in his hand when he jumped.

As Frank ordered and sat in a nearby booth, Gerard hastily erased the mistake, sighing irritably when the kneaded eraser stuck to the paper slightly like un-floured dough. He stuffed his pencils and the eraser into their bulging pencil case and then stuffed that into his bulging messenger bag, cramming his sketchbooks alongside them. He gave up after several seconds of battling with the top flap, trying to stretch it over the contents of the bag far enough to connect the two magnets and close it. It flopped to the other side dejectedly and the bag hung open.

Gerard let out his breath and pushed his hair out of his face, getting his pinky finger caught in the dark tangles. In his rush to leave the building and avoid any contact with Frank, Gerard didn’t care if he left Mrs. Moreno more tip than he could afford—she probably deserved it, anyhow, Gerard thought. When faced with a cold wave of air just outside of the restaurant, Gerard struggled to untie his jacket from around his waist and subsequently dropped his bag.

Papers fanned out across the pavement and Gerard dropped to his knees, cursing and scrambling to grab his papers before the wind carried them away into the cold city evening. He didn’t register the bell of the café ringing until a pair of gloved hands were helping him gather his papers. Gerard didn’t have time to admire the cool bone design on the gloves as he was chasing a stray paper fluttering down the street. When he caught it he stood up and spit his hair out of the corner of his mouth, turning back to see Frank (of _course_ ) holding his bag and trying to fit the last of his papers into it.

“Thank you so much,” Gerard said, taking the heavy bag from Frank and attempting to catch his breath as subtly as possible.

“No problem, man,” Frank said, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “I hope your stuff’s not too crumpled.”

“It’s okay, it was nothing too important,” Gerard lied. Well, it wasn’t anything _final_ , so he guessed it was true.

Frank huffed out a frosty breath against the cold and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Gerard jolted slightly and felt a wave of nervousness rush over him in an instant, as tangible as the cold when he exited the café. Without any further thought Gerard grabbed the lighter he had bought the night before from one of the front pockets of his messenger bag.

“I, uh, I have this if you want,” Gerard said, holding the lighter towards Frank, who accepted gratefully.

“Want one?” Frank offered around the cigarette between his teeth, cupping his hand around the flame to light it. Gerard shook his head quickly.

“No, ah, I’m trying to cut down. You know. That’s why I didn’t have it yesterday. Uh, and I probably shouldn’t have it today, either, but…” Gerard rambled uselessly.

“No, I get you. Gotta worry about health and shit,” Frank said after his first drag, handing the lighter back.

“Yeah. Health and shit,” Gerard said, trying to remember the last time he ate something green.

Frank smoked and Gerard fidgeted.

“I should, uh, I should get going,” Gerard mumbled, scratching his head.

“Nice talking to you, Gerard,” Frank said.

“Yeah, you too. Bye,” Gerard said.

He turned on his heel, walked straight home and banged his head against the microwave door as he heated up his dinner.

“Fuck.”

Gerard’s apartment didn’t respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoy pls comment what u think!


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few weeks, as the air got cold enough to force Gerard to pull out his fancy black trench coat with the silk lining, Gerard got to know Frank better in the moments in between sketches and coffees and walks home through the frost. Gerard discovered that Frank is in a band, and that he got a tattoo so high on his neck so that he wouldn’t have the option to give up on his dreams of musical success, and that he’s a Scorpio. Frank also got to know Gerard—he discovered that Gerard’s an artist, and that he goes to _La Cocinita_ every day, and that he’s a smoker.

Well, the last part was not exactly true, and therein was Gerard’s problem as of late. Gerard was kind-of-maybe-sort-of letting Frank believe that was true, or at least he wasn’t denying it. It’s just that Gerard, being _Gerard_ and all, i.e. insufferably awkward, could barely carry out a conversation with Frank to begin with, let alone without the helpful guise of lending him his lighter.

Gerard had given up on making progress on his commission, despite the fast approaching deadline—he had only a little over a month before the finalized painting was due, and yet here he was, experimenting with the ink of his good-quality markers to achieve that perfect shade of hazel. Sinking into the squishy cushions of the booths in the corner of the café, Gerard could almost sink into the color of Frank’s eyes, too, littered all over his paper. He let himself fall into a pseudo-comfortable state that was only betrayed by the clamminess of his hands where he gripped his markers. He could only avoid his problems for so long, but a little while more wouldn’t hurt.

That “little while” ended sooner than Gerard had anticipated, when a ceramic mug of steaming coffee came into his line of vision and settled with a soft _clunk_ on the table in front of him. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Gerard looked up and saw Frank slide into the other side of the booth. Still, Gerard felt some telltale butterflies swooping in his stomach when Frank gave him a smile and settled in across from him.

Stupid butterflies, Gerard’s mind rambled uselessly. Stupid, unnecessary, life-complicating butterflies. They were probably moths, really.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Frank asked, grinning slowly at Gerard, and Gerard realized that he had definitely taken too long to greet him and he had definitely been staring. Motherfucking moths.

“Moths,” Gerard said, and when he didn’t elaborate, Frank laughed, looking both amused and bemused.

“I hope that’s a complement,” he said. Gerard blushed.

“Is this for me?” He asked instead of answering, gesturing towards the coffee.

“All yours,” Frank said, nudging the mug closer to Gerard on the table. The mug left a ring of moisture on the table and Gerard used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe it up and protect his hands from the heat when he picked up the mug. He inhaled deeply, the strong smell overwhelming his senses pleasantly.

“Thank you,” Gerard said after the first delicious sip, perhaps too earnestly, as Frank laughed and shrugged when he said it.

“What are you drawing there?” Frank asked, taking notice for the first time of Gerard’s sketchbook, propped on his lap against the edge of the table. Frank made as if to grab for the book, but froze when he saw Gerard’s face drain of color.

“Can I?” Frank asked hesitantly.

Gerard let out his breath and nodded, shoving his hair out of his face and rubbing his temples. The only thing on that page had been color samples, little boxes and swatches of variants of the same color covering the entire page. There was nothing suspicious about that.

“Color studies,” Gerard mumbled. Frank studied the page seriously, with a furrowed brow and lips scrunched to the side, nodding slowly. Frank’s eyes darted up, searching Gerard’s, and Gerard felt his heartbeat quicken again.

“Cool,” Frank said finally, handing the sketchbook back to Gerard. “It sort of looks like your eye color.”

“Really?” Gerard asked, surprised. Obviously it hadn’t been _his_ eye color he had been going for, but it still caused a faint blush to rise on his cheeks.

“Yeah. It’s a very nice color,” Frank said, leaning back in his seat and fidgeting with the fingers of his skeletal gloves. Gerard told himself sternly that Frank was not complimenting his eye color, he was just talking about the swatches on paper, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. Gerard wondered briefly if he should start wearing rouge to make his cheeks even rosier; it would save him the trouble of constantly trying to hide his blush behind his hair, at least.

Gerard struggled to come up with something to further the conversation and was about to open his mouth and hope something intelligible emerged when Mrs. Moreno interrupted his internal dilemma.

“Boys, looks like we might have to close early,” she said, untying her apron wearily and rubbing the indentation on her finger left by her wedding ring.

“Aw, what? I only just got here!” Frank complained.

“I know, but look, hijo, it’s going to start snowing inches in a minute and I have to go to the wholesale market to buy extra salt before it closes, too.”

Gerard looked, and sure enough, white snow, thicker and globbier than the powder of the last couple of days, was falling from the sky onto the uncovered sidewalk outside the storefront. He sighed and looked down dejectedly at his ratty pair of converse. He was not looking forward to walking home today.

“Are you sure I can’t go pick it up for you, Mrs. Moreno?” Frank asked, but Mrs. Moreno shook her head.

“No, no. I have the store discount and all, so no, that won’t be necessary, but thank you, _caballero_.”

“Well, at least I got to buy you coffee,” Frank said, smiling apologetically at Gerard.

“Oh, no, thank you so much. You didn’t have to,” Gerard said quickly, hands flailing in midair before settling to scratch at the back of his neck.

“I should get going, get home before the snow gets too heavy,” Gerard said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later, then,” Frank said, looking lost in thought as he gazed into the empty space between the table and the air above it while Gerard packed up his things.

Frank shook himself suddenly, snapping out of it, and said, “Wait, you’re not walking home, are you?”

Gerard nodded, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder timidly.

“God, Gerard, you’ve been walking home this whole time, haven’t you? And in the snow—no. Come on, I’m so rude, I’ll give you a ride,” Frank said, drumming his fingers on the table rapidly before standing up.

“Come on!” Frank repeated, laughing through his words slightly.

“Oh, no, really, it’s totally fine, Frank. You really don’t have to. I always walk, it’s no big deal,” Gerard rushed to ensure him, although inside the offer of a ride in a warm car with a beautiful, kind driver sounded a lot more appealing than trudging through the snow in wet converse to his empty apartment.

“Nope, not in this weather. Come on, I’ll drive you. I insist.”

“Well, okay,” Gerard agreed, feigning reluctance as he stood up and made his way to the door alongside Frank.

“Bye Mrs. Moreno!” Frank called.

“Bye boys! Drive safe!” She responded distractedly over her shoulder, busy wiping down the long counter.

The snow outside was thicker than it had originally appeared from inside, and Gerard was already grateful that he wouldn’t have to take a walk that would feel like the equivalent of dumping an entire 7/11 Slurpee onto his feet.

Frank led the two of them to his car, an old sedan with an assortment of colorful bumper stickers decorating the backside. Gerard calmly and quietly took notice of the equality bumper sticker slapped haphazardly next to the license plate as Frank unlocked the car doors, and Gerard’s moths had nothing to say about it at all.

Frank got into the driver’s seat and leaned across the divider to unlock the door of the passenger seat from the inside. Gerard ducked inside the car and gingerly pushed away the cigarette butts littering the seat before sitting down.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Frank said in reference to the cigarettes. “I know you’re trying to quit and all. It doesn’t smell too strong in here, does it?”

It did, and Gerard knew he would have to actually wash his clothes to get the stench of cigarette smoke out of them, but he shook his head nonetheless.

“It’s fine,” he said.

Frank turned on the car, and after a little shuddering sound warm air began to flow out of the air conditioning units and Gerard settled comfortably into his seat.

“So, where am I headed?” Frank asked, pulling away from the curb and turning his windshield wipers on against the snow.

“Do you know the apartment block past Broad? By the park?”

“Oh, yeah, I got you. That’s on the way to my place, actually, perfect.”

“Thank you again,” Gerard said quietly, tugging on the straps of his messenger bag. Gerard was looking down at his lap and therefore didn’t catch Frank’s fond glance before he returned his eyes to the snowy road before them.

“Any time, Gerard. Seriously. It’s in no way an inconvenience.”

“Thanks, still,” Gerard said anyway, and Frank decided that it would be easier to just accept his gratitude. Frank turned on his car radio, playing some obscure classic rock station, and Gerard drummed his fingers against his leg to the songs he liked, but other than that the rest of the car ride was spent in comfortable silence.

“This is my building,” Gerard said when they finally came up on his block, and Frank pulled over to the sidewalk as Gerard made sure he had all of his things together. Gerard opened the door and stood, turning back when Frank said:

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Gerard smiled warmly, blinking away snowflakes that had landed on his eyelashes.

“See you tomorrow, Frank.”

He turned away and shut the car door behind him, shuffling up the steps to his second-floor apartment. When he reached his door, he saw that Frank was still waiting in his car for Gerard to get inside and smiled to himself. He waved goodbye to Frank as he pulled his key out of his bag and Frank waved back, taking the car out of park and trundling away.

Gerard stuck the key into the lock and turned the knob, pushing his weight forward and expecting to enter, but the door was locked, which meant it had been unlocked before. Had Gerard forgotten to lock the door before he left in the morning? He sure hoped not, but it was entirely possible. He didn’t exactly have the sharpest memory.

He unlocked the door again and slid it open. His second clue that something was different was the light that spilled out onto the landing from his entryway. Gerard definitely had not turned on that light. He always kept his lights off when he went out, and rarely had that light on in the first place.

Gerard looked over his shoulder, but Frank was long gone by now.

He pushed the door open as slowly as possible, gripping his keys between the knuckles of his clenched hands. His heart was racing. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he heard noise coming from inside.

Someone was inside his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> caballero means gentleman :)


	4. Chapter 4

Fear flooded the brain. It was numbing and buzzing like television static and ricocheting off of the skull to fill recesses and caverns with its overwhelming potency. Pulsing along with the beat of an exacerbated heart, fear was erasing individual thought and diverting the brain to instinct.

In this way, Gerard inched past the front door of his apartment. He slipped along the wall, pulling his bag into his hands. His ears picked up the sounds of someone moving just around the corner. He froze as footsteps grew nearer, and without a thought he sprang forward, using his momentum to swing his bag around and hit the intruder square-on.

“Ow! What the fuck, Gerard?” Mikey shouted, his arms up cradling his injured sides.

The fear began to slip away from Gerard in stages, leaving him lastly with his heart still racing and his head still reeling.

“Jesus fuck, Mikey, you scared the living shit out of me!”

“You fucking idiot. You know I have a key. What the fuck, Gerard.”

Gerard noticed a bowl of cereal, spilling onto the hardwood floor where Mikey had dropped it.

“Why couldn’t you have told me you were coming over, dumbass?” Gerard asked, dragging his hand across his forehead and moving to drop onto the couch, letting his bag and keys fall beside him.

“I did, actually. Have you even been checking your voicemail?”

“No you didn’t, you didn’t tell me.”

Mikey paused.

“Okay, well, I didn’t tell you, but it’s not like you would have even noticed if I did! You’re fucking ignoring me!”

Gerard sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fists.

“Close the fucking door, would you, Mikes?”

Gerard heard the door creak shut and felt the cold airflow cut off. He looked up to see Mikey making a disgusted face where his socks had touched spilled milk. Mikey banged around in the kitchen cabinets and began to clean up the mess with a wad of paper towels, while Gerard waited for his heart rate to slow. After sopping up as much milk as he deemed possible for the moment, Mikey threw away the towels.

“So, what’s up?” Mikey asked, now fiddling with the coffee machine.

“Nothing, really. You know how it is,” Gerard said, picking at a fray in the shoulder strap of his bag.

“Aha, I know how it is,” Mikey muttered.

Gerard didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch like spandex.

“Who drove you?” Mikey finally said, pseudo-casually.

Even as he blushed, Gerard said, “No one,” and let his hair fall in front of his face.

“Did you meet someone?” Mikey asked, his voice betraying the fact that they were nearing a topic of conversation that Mikey was more invested in. The coffee pot let out a gurgle and Gerard sighed.

“No. It was no one.”

Mikey made his way over to the couch with two mugs of coffee in his hand and Gerard couldn’t help but think that he preferred Frank bringing him coffee over Mikey. With Mikey, coffee usually meant bribery.

Mikey set the mugs onto the coffee table and moved as if to throw his legs over Gerard’s lap, but stilled suddenly.

“Gerard, why do you smell like smoke? Don’t tell me you started smoking.”

Gerard sighed.

“No, no, I didn’t fucking start smoking, Mikey, don’t worry. It’s the guy, the guy who drove me. He smokes, and his car, you know.”

At that Mikey relaxed, settling his bony legs on top of Gerard’s, his knee jabbing into Gerard’s stomach. Gerard had to resign himself to the conversation at that point. Mikey’s limbs could double as a cage.

“So you _did_ meet someone,” Mikey said smugly, obviously accepting Gerard’s explanation. He took a long sip of his coffee. “Is he cute? Is he straight? Is he single?”

The questions conjured so many thoughts about Frank that Gerard forgot that he was supposed to be exasperatedly avoiding this conversation.

“He is cute,” Gerard caved, blushing.

“Oh really?” Mikey said in a teasing voice, before falling serious again.

“Okay, but, does he think Evil Dead is stupid? This is actually really important. I don’t know if I can let you date him if he thinks Evil Dead is stupid.”

“Mikey, we’re not even dating,” Gerard blushed, “and I don’t know his thoughts on Evil Dead. I know he likes horror movies, though. And, like, honestly, don’t make fun of me, but, I’d probably still like him even if he thinks Evil Dead is stupid.”

Mikey choked on his coffee.

Gerard watched him splutter, coffee dribbling down his chin as he tried to situate himself so that he wouldn’t topple backwards, until he finally took a heaving breath and looked at Gerard with bewilderment.

“Wow. So, this is, like, serious, then.”

Gerard shrugged, scratching behind his ear and breaking eye contact.

“So when are you going to ask him out?”

At Mikey’s mere suggestion, Gerard felt his blood run cold. There was no way in a million years that Gerard would be able to ask Frank out. Gerard could cross the Sahara desert before he could gather the guts to make the first move on a guy, let alone one as gorgeous and funny and perfect as Frank. Gerard’s self-pity was back in full force, sinking his stomach and stinging the edges of his eyes.

“Yeah, no, no thanks. I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.” Gerard began to pull his bag onto his lap, stuffing loose papers back inside and making sure he didn’t leave anything wedged between the couch cushions.

“Oh, come on. Why are you clamming up all of a sudden? Talk to me.”

Gerard’s hand closed around the lighter, stuck between the seat cushion and the back of the couch, and when he pulled it out, Mikey grabbed his wrist before he could put it back in his bag.

“Gerard, what? I thought you said you didn’t start smoking! What’s going on?”

“No, no, it’s not—I’m just—“ Gerard groaned. “It’s not that, shush.”

“Gerard, I’m worried about you.”

Gerard elected not to respond to that, instead rubbing his fists over his eyes and standing up from the couch. He felt his knees click once he was completely vertical.

“Talk to me, Gee!”

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Gerard mumbled, dragging his feet as he moved around the couch towards his room.

“Gerard,” Mikey whined, but Gerard didn’t turn around. “Gerard, stop being a pissy bitch and talk to me! Who is this guy? Tell me what’s going on!”

Mikey got up and stalked after him, getting close enough to hear him mutter something about wanting a drink. Mikey reeled back, before shaking himself and grabbing Gerard’s arm, forcing him to stop in the hallway.

“Gerard, what was that? What the fuck? You can’t fucking say that shit!”

Gerard dragged his hand across his face, exposing more red-rimmed whites of his eyes and stretching his skin. He sighed and stood still for a moment longer before shaking his head and saying, “I’m okay, Mikey. I’m fine. I just want to go to sleep.”

“You can’t just say stuff like that, seriously, Gee,” Mikey said, more softly as he tugged on his brother’s arm for emphasis.

“I’m alright, Mikey, don’t worry about it,” Gerard insisted tiredly.

“Are you?” Mikey asked after a beat. In the silence that followed, he appeared to be sizing Gerard up, before turning away and picking up his coat from the side of the couch and shrugging it on.

“Come on,” Mikey said, “put your jacket back on. I’ll take you to a meeting.”

“Mikey, I’m okay.”

Mikey felt his keys between his fingers, the quiet clinking and jangling sounding almost like the tittering of a group of concerned birds.

“I know,” Mikey said. “Come on, I’ll sit with you. It’ll be fine.”

Through the window of Mikey’s car, the light of the moon reflecting off of the snow on the ground brightened the night. Neither of them spoke during the car ride, but Mikey didn’t turn on his music.

Once sitting in the plastic chairs at the nearby church’s Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, Gerard accepted Mikey’s Styrofoam cup of weak coffee much more gratefully.

It had been a while since Gerard had had to go to one of these meetings. The religious prattling of the other recovered people, there for the same reasons as him, that served as background noise, along with his brother by his side, never failed to calm him. It had a magical ability to shift things into focus for him, like a powerful lens. It helped him remember that, no matter the situation, even when he felt like relapsing, Gerard’s fears never really were as overwhelming as they seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment what you think! <3


	5. Chapter 5

After Mikey had ambushed Gerard in his apartment, Gerard felt as though the gears of his life had dusted themselves off and started to creak back into motion.

He would never admit it, least of all to Mikey, but Gerard definitely felt freer now that he wasn’t avoiding his brother. Mikey would stop by every couple of days with warm food and the pair would eat at Gerard’s cheap plastic kitchen table, instead of in front of the television like Gerard tended to do on his own. It was refreshing. The lights were on more when Mikey was around.

His commission was also coming along well. He had all of the concept sketches finished and was waiting for a couple of special paints he ordered to arrive in the mail.

Things with Frank had been going well, too; every night so far Frank had driven Gerard home. Sometimes they talked and sometimes they didn’t, but when they did have a conversation Gerard’s awkwardness wasn’t a huge obstacle. Gerard’s crush seemed to grow by the minute.

“He _does_ like Evil Dead,” Gerard had told Mikey one night over takeout, and Mikey heard wedding bells.

All around Gerard there was a sense of anticipation. His gears were moving, and while it was entirely welcome, it was definitely weird for Gerard. He hadn’t felt excited about his future for so long that he almost didn’t recognize the feeling.

At the moment it was almost noon, and even though it was an office day, it was Friday, so there was more foot traffic on the streets than usual. Gerard had spent the morning weaving between people on the sidewalks (wondering about them as their fleeting presences in Gerard’s life slipped away), and running errands, from the grocery store to the mall to the art store. He had even remembered to pick up a birthday present for his mother.

The day was bright and cold and Gerard was starving by the time he arrived at _La Cocinita_ , only to be faced with a locked door and a sign with swirling letters that held little sentiment:

“Sorry, We’re Closed!”

When he thought about it, Gerard did vaguely remember Mrs. Moreno speaking about some nephew’s first communion, or something.

He stood there aimlessly for several minutes, trying to gather his thoughts and figure out what to do with himself, before he reluctantly turned around and trudged off. He made it not five steps before he was stopped by the sound of someone’s voice.

“Fuck,” Frank said, and Gerard heard his footsteps growing nearer. Gerard turned around and smiled weakly at Frank.

“It’s closed,” Gerard said.

“I totally forgot,” Frank laughed.

“Me too.”

Frank continued to laugh at himself and ran a tattooed hand through his hair. Gerard held onto his bag and watched his feet as he toed at the sidewalk weeds, a tiny smile on his face.

“Shit, man,” Frank said, and Gerard looked up to see him smiling widely, “At least we’re in the same boat.”

“That’s true.”

“Are you hungry?” Frank asked, “I’m fucking starved.”

“Me too,” Gerard admitted.

“We could go eat somewhere? I know a couple more places around town.”

“That would be great,” Gerard said. This would be the first time they would hang out together outside of _La Cocinita_ (besides the car rides), and Gerard felt more anxiety leak into his gut as expected.

“Or, we don’t have to go somewhere I like, if you have anywhere in mind?”

Gerard shook his head.

“No, that’s fine, I’m not picky.” Gerard didn’t want to say that he hardly knew any restaurants besides _La Cocinita_ in the first place.

Frank smiled sweetly at Gerard, a fond glint in his eye, and Gerard went pink.

“Okay, cool,” Frank said, and led the way to his car.

Frank popped a CD into the player as soon as he got into his seat, and Gerard made a happy noise when he heard Iron Maiden start to play. Throughout the ride, Gerard nodded enthusiastically to the beat of the music and listened to Frank humming along, his mouth warping to render the guitar solos. Frank’s cell phone had been tossed into the compartment between the two of them, and Frank ignored several calls on the way to the restaurant, only turning the volume of the music higher.

When they finally pulled up to the restaurant Frank had chosen, Gerard was surprised, and a little bit underwhelmed. He had expected the type of place that served hearty food and kept its lights low even for the lunch crowd, with a bar and televisions mounted on the walls. Instead, he was met with a tiny sandwich place that had ivy crawling up the side, a garden growing the best it could during winter months, and the menu written on a chalkboard. They had a selection of organic sodas and Gerard was fairly certain that he could hear Keane playing from the speakers.

“This place has the best vegetarian stuff,” Frank said, “but don’t worry. I don’t expect you to order it if you don’t want to.”

“I trust your opinion,” Gerard said somewhat honestly, despite the fact that he had just completely misjudged Frank’s taste. His bluff was worth it for the grin on Frank’s face.

“Is it okay if I order for you, then? You can find us a table.”

Gerard agreed and situated himself at a little wooden table outside, next to a dry fountain and a patio heater. Gerard let himself sink into the tranquil atmosphere, contrasting the anxiety he was feeling because of his inconvenient crush, but it was still nice. There was definitely some sort of nourishing energy that came with being around plants. He felt the way his chair shifted on the uneven brick floor and listened to the laughter of some of the other patrons.

Frank returned after a couple of minutes with two bags of chips and two root beers in glass bottles.

“This place bakes their own bread,” Frank said as he sat in the chair opposite Gerard and scooted forward, “It’s fucking awesome. You’ll see.”

“How much do I owe you?” Gerard asked, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Don’t worry about it,” Frank shook his head, and Gerard started to protest before Frank shushed him.

“You just always buy me things. I feel bad,” Gerard said.

“I don’t mind it at all. They’re my treats to you. Look, it’s already paid for; if it bothers you so much, you can buy desert.”

Appeased, Gerard nodded, and cracked open his root beer.

The sandwiches came soon after, and they were as delicious as Frank had promised. The pair made pleasant (awkward) small talk about the restaurant and the weather before they got into a discussion about who would win in a fight between Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees. Gerard fiercely defended his stance that Jason was nearly impossible to kill and Freddy had the major setback of only being able to attack in dreams, while Frank claimed that Jason had too many human characteristics and that Freddy’s unrelenting evilness would eventually bring him out on top. Frank was obviously enjoying how much Gerard was coming out of his shell, and while normally that sort of knowingness in the other person’s expression would prompt Gerard to pull back again, this time it only encouraged him to keep talking.

Frank got another two calls before he turned his phone off completely.

“Sorry about that,” Frank had said, grimacing.

“Something wrong?”

“Just work stuff,” Frank sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gerard asked hesitantly.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Maybe another time,” Frank said, smiling at Gerard. It was a closed-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Gerard didn’t like it. A moment later, though, it was gone, replaced with Frank’s usual spark as he thought of the next thing he wanted to say.

They carried on making lighthearted conversation for the next half hour as they finished up their food. Gerard was about to drag Frank back into the restaurant to buy him the desert he had sort of promised, but Frank laughed him off too many times and Gerard gave up. Frank pulled Gerard to a stop, however, on the way back to his car, having spotted a poster taped to a stoplight.

“Oh, man, did you hear about this?” Frank asked, flattening the poster against the wind so that he could read the information properly.

“No. What is it?”

“These posters have been all over town, man. They’re showing a couple of old horror movies at the theater on Cedar. It’s tonight, actually. I wanted to go but I totally forgot about it, damn!”

“For real?” Gerard asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes and scanning the sign for himself, spotting a couple of surprisingly great titles on the list.

“Dawn of the Dead? The _original_?” Gerard asked, eyes widening.

“Fuck yeah! D’you wanna go?” Frank asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Absolutely,” Gerard said, and with that, they set off in the direction of the movie theater.

Gerard’s experience at the movie theater had started out an anxious one. His excitement at the prospect of such a killer movie night had clouded his judgment and it wasn’t until they were shuffling through the rows of seats with popcorn in hand that Gerard finally realized that this meant that he would have to see the movie, in a dark theater, _with_ Frank. _Next to_ Frank. His anxiety was soon relieved, though; when the trailers started, Frank leaned over the armrest to make fun of the stupid-looking movies, and Gerard was able to laugh and relax in his chair for the rest of the feature film. They left the theater still giggling over the bad trailers, repeating the jokes they had already told to revive the other’s laughter.

“And her fucking face, I swear to God,” Frank said through his laughter.

“I know,” Gerard agreed, “And it’s not like that movie hasn’t already been made a dozen times. All they need is a fucking Tim Burton version and they’ll be all set.”

The two erupted into giggles again, stumbling over each other and wiping tears from their eyes as they walked down the sidewalk towards Frank’s car.

“Oh, man,” Frank sighed, a few more giggles escaping him, “I don’t want this to end. Do you want to go out somewhere, get a drink?”

Gerard’s giggles petered out.

“Oh, um. I’m—I don’t drink,” Gerard said, feeling that joyous daze slip away.

Frank snapped out of it, too, scrambling to apologize.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Gerard. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Frank lifted a hand to the back of his neck. The two continued walking.

“S’Okay. You didn’t know,” Gerard sighed. Just as Frank had said, Gerard didn’t want the night to end either, but it seemed as though it was coming to a close.

In the car, Gerard wrung his wrists in his hands.

“I should probably get home now, actually,” he said, looking down at his lap.

“Alright.” Frank started the car and shifted into reverse. Gerard could feel Frank’s disappointment rolling off of him and he winced.

“Um, I have, uh, this thing,” Gerard said, and Frank looked at him out of the corner of his eye with a small smile as he got out of the parking space.

“Next week. It’s my mom’s birthday,” Gerard said. The last part came out sounding more like a question than anything. Frank nodded to show that he was listening.

“You should come. With me.”

Frank glanced at him again, and Gerard blushed. Every millisecond that passed the idea of taking back what he had said sounded more and more appealing.

“Really? I mean, yeah, that’d be great. I’d love to. Just… why me?” Frank asked.

Gerard shrugged.

“I like hanging out with you.”

Frank smiled, eyes on the road.

“I like hanging out with you too, Gerard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment what you think! <333


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry it's taken me so long to update. This chapter ended up being hella long, so I split it in two. Hopefully that makes up for how busy I'll be in the next couple of weeks, probably not going to update sorry yikes... anyways enjoy!

Under the spray and suds of his shower, Gerard let the tension drain gently from his body. The streams ran over his eyelids and down his face, dripping off his chin and traveling lower to where it became indistinguishable from the water that hit his chest first.

Gerard trusted his brother like no other. Mikey was one of the only people who could get Gerard to express himself in a very inartistic way. There was no need for perceptive analogies or acquiescence to social formalities and technicalities. He had his reservations even with Mikey, but for the most part it was nice to have someone who understood the way his mind worked. Other times, though, it only served to exacerbate Gerard’s anxiety. It was usually a little bit of both.

Today, for example, was the day of their mother’s birthday party. The date had arrived faster than Gerard had anticipated, and with it all of the sensationalized overthinking he had postponed. As much as Gerard appreciated having Mikey listen to him ramble on about Frank and about his inability to interpret basic social conventions, it was definitely not helpful that Mikey, instead of using his patented Reading-Gerard’s-Mind Powers to help ease his panic and prepare him for a fun afternoon, opted to abuse them by incessantly poking fun at Gerard’s thinly veiled crush.

“Why did I even invite him?” Gerard had said to Mikey earlier as he was digging through the clothes on his floor, tossing them every which way behind him.

“The way I see it,” said Mikey, his voice taking on a muffled quality as Gerard stuck his head further inside his closet, “is that you are freaking out because—well, scratch that, you’re always freaking out—but you’re _extra_ freaking out because of your huge crush on Frank.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mikey,” Gerard had said, meaning to sound grumbly and annoyed but his voice came out shrill-toned due to an upsurge of anxiety.

Gerard had turned around to see Mikey casually tossing popcorn into the air, attempting (with mixed success) to catch it in his mouth. Mikey had missed a piece and it bounced off of his glasses, and when Mikey shot Gerard a wink he could do nothing but make exasperated noises in response and continue to pick an outfit.

Now, though, in the shower, Gerard was back in his headspace. He was in his bubble, where he spent most of his time, with no need to express his thoughts to anyone but himself. The longer he spent under the slowly cooling water, the less clear it became whether or not this was a date with Frank. He was definitely leaning towards not-date status, since as far as his insecurity-riddled mind could recall Frank had never expressed any sort of romantic interest towards him and no one had ever called this outing a date, but he was still hopelessly unsure. Mikey’s refusal to accept Gerard’s claim that this was a purely platonic get-together, teasing though it was, did not ease Gerard’s distress.

Gerard still hadn’t made up his mind by the time Frank knocked on his door, but luckily he was at least dressed and ready to leave.

“No one said ‘date,’” he hissed at Mikey before rushing off to answer the door.

“Hey, man,” Frank said when Gerard pulled the door open. He was wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt combo with some sort of cardigan or sweater slung over his arm, and his hair and make-up even seemed to be toned down a bit from their usual standard, most likely for the benefit of Gerard’s mother. In reality, Gerard thought briefly, Frank need not have bothered toning it down, for this was _Gerard_ ’s mother they were about to see, after all. She was used to worse.

“Hi,” Gerard grinned, “Come in.”

Gerard was almost too distracted by Frank’s glorious presence to notice Mikey’s smirk in his direction.

“Hey, you must be Mikey. I’m Frank.” Frank said, shaking his hand.

“Yeah, I know,” Mikey said, and Frank grinned, shooting a glance at Gerard.

“Great to meet you,” Frank said, and from there the two seemed to get along well, much to Gerard’s relief. Mikey was quiet, as he unfailingly was with any person he had just met, but Gerard definitely knew Mikey well enough to tell that he was already growing more comfortable with Frank.

Soon enough, Mikey’s girlfriend Alicia arrived, and there was a brief moment of awkwardness (at least from Gerard’s perspective) when the two embraced and he realized how much this seemed like a double date, but it was soon mended when they piled into Mikey’s car and Frank discovered that Alicia worked as a guitar tech. They struck up a conversation about guitars and the music industry quite quickly, and Gerard tried to participate, but the reality was that Gerard had been kicked out of the only band he had ever been in because he knew so little about playing guitar. Frank still smiled at Gerard when he made his contributions, though, so Gerard didn’t feel too bad about it.

Tied to his mother’s mailbox was a bundle of balloons, bobbing tranquilly in the air, deflated enough that the strings were no longer taut. Mikey pulled the car up beside it and all four of them exited into the crisp late afternoon air. The sound of chatter grew louder as the four approached the front door, and Mikey opened it without knocking.

“Hey everyone!” Mikey said, and with that there was a swell of noise and movement as everyone greeted and hugged one another. Alicia already knew most of their family members from previous get-togethers, so she made her rounds comfortably with Mikey. Frank hovered behind Gerard as he greeted all of the uncles and cousins and second-nephews (Oh my!) before finally reaching his mother.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” Gerard said and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Gerard,” she greeted, placing a hand on his arm and leaning into the kiss.

“Thank you. Go ahead and set the present on the table,” she said and gestured distractedly at the little wrapped gift in Gerard’s hands, already occupied by Frank’s presence behind him.

“And you brought someone!”

“Yeah, this is Frank,” Gerard said, jerking his thumb behind him and hating the way his voice sounded squawky and awkward when he noticed his relatives peering over curiously.

“I’m Frank,” he said, waving at the relatives with a closed-lipped smile.

“He’s…yeah,” Gerard mumbled, trailing off when Frank extended an arm to shake hands with his mother, not bothering to come up with an explanation for who Frank was in relation to him. His relatives seemed to be nodding slowly and politely before resuming their previous conversations.

“You must be Mrs. Way,” Frank said.

“Oh, please. Call me Donna,” she said, waving her hand at him unconcernedly, already half-turned away to face whatever required her attention next at her bustling party.

“Donna,” Frank said as if testing the word on his mouth, and he smiled.

“Glad to have you!” Donna said over her shoulder before being pulled into another conversation across the room.

Gerard glanced sideways at Frank and realized he was already looking back at him, grinning. The two shared a moment that felt like a shrug before moving to a spot on the couch amidst Gerard’s relatives.

It was the type of party that would have been a barbeque if it were warm enough; people milled in and out of the kitchen and chatted around mugs of coffee in little groups, while some of Gerard’s younger cousins weaved between the conversations, laughing and chasing one another.

A couple of Gerard’s aunts introduced themselves to Frank and they made forgettable small talk until Donna returned, carrying two cups of coffee and offering them to Frank and Gerard. She settled into the armchair across from the couch.

“What do you do for a living, Frank?” she asked as she pulled the coffee table more towards the center of the space in between them, her words drawing the attention of the aunts and a few other relatives gathered around them.

“Oh, I’m in a band,” Frank said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, looking almost bashful.

“How fun!”

“Risky choice,” Gerard’s uncle Rudy said, not impolitely.

“Yeah, but it’s worth it,” Frank said, leaning his elbows on his knees, “Music’s been in my family, y’know, my dad and my grandpa did it. It was kind of a given that I would too.”

Gerard smiled when he saw the way Frank’s eyes lit up, in contrast to the way he shrugged, trying to play his words off as casual. It didn’t take much to be able to tell the importance of music in Frank’s life.

“The best of luck to you,” Gerard’s aunt Amanda said, shooting an indecipherable look at her husband.

“Thank you. We’re doing alright, though. Jersey has a good music scene,” Frank smiled politely.

“How did the two of you meet?” another aunt asked.

“At the café,” Gerard said from behind his coffee and Frank nodded.

“Oh! Gerard goes to this darling little café, some Spanish place, it’s great,” Donna said, informing the relatives.

“Mexican,” Gerard mumbled, and Frank bumped their shoulders together. When Gerard glanced at Frank he was looking forward, and Gerard grinned to himself.

“So, how long have you been seeing eachother, then?” Donna asked, and Gerard felt all his blood rise to his face and he barely managed not to choke on his sip of coffee.

“Oh, uh,” Frank started.

“We’re, ah, just friends,” Gerard said quickly, refusing to look at Frank.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that,” Donna replied, becoming immediately flustered and setting down her coffee, using both hands to gesture agitatedly, “So sorry, Frank. It’s just Gerard hasn’t brought anyone over in so long—“

“Mom,” Gerard groaned, his voice slightly strangled, and he dropped his head into his hands.

“—I just thought, but I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m so sorry,” she finished finally, patting at her blond hair and sinking into the chair in defeat.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Way, don’t worry about it,” Frank assured her graciously, and Donna was too embarrassed to correct his use of her surname. She merely nodded, and Gerard’s uncle cleared his throat and changed the subject.

The conversation flowed from there and Gerard sat back, intentionally opting not to participate and instead focusing on calming himself down. Frank responded to his relatives questions and said his piece here and there, but Gerard could tell that it was mostly a nicety and that Frank had lost a bit of the spark he held earlier.

“So, Gerard,” Uncle Rudy said eventually, “How’s work? Still a copy monkey?”

Gerard blushed.

“No, I quit Cartoon Network, a while ago, actually. You all know that,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” his uncle laughed, “wasn’t _artistic_ enough, right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, stung.

“Donna, I tell you, if my boy wanted to be an artist, I’d tell him to get his head out of the paint fumes, you know what I’m saying? Someone’s gotta pay for my retirement!”

A couple of the aunts tittered lightheartedly and his wife shot him the same look.

“That you would,” Donna sighed, avoiding Gerard’s eyes.

Gerard, in turn, avoided Frank’s eyes. He could feel them on him, a sensation like beetles on his bare skin, and he wished he could liquefy himself and escape through the crevices of the couch.

“Oh, I’m just looking out for you, is all, Gerard,” Rudy said, leaning across the coffee table to clap a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Gerard said, trying not to let his voice betray the wet frustration boiling inside him.

“I have a couple regular commissioners right now, actually, so money’s not a huge problem,” he said, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt.

His uncle threw his head back and laughed again, and Gerard frowned.

“More paintings for the living room, Donna?” he asked, chuckling at his own joke.

“No,” Gerard said sharply.

“Just teasing, boy, just teasing,” Rudy said, still laughing.

“What’s this?” Mikey asked, reentering the living room from the kitchen with Alicia beside him.

“Uncle Rudy’s just asking about Gerard’s art,” Donna said lightly.

“Oh, Gerard? He’s really great,” Mikey said excitedly and Gerard smiled appreciatively, “Yeah, he’s definitely got some talent.”

“Hey, as long as it pays the bills, who cares if it’s a real job or not!” Rudy laughed, tilting his head at Gerard as if they were sharing a joke.

“It _is_ a real job,” Gerard insisted, emotion leaking into his voice.

“Yeah, what?” Mikey asked as his good-natured enthusiasm slipped away to be replaced with confusion and concern.

“Speaking of jobs!” Donna said, leaning over to engage one of her sister-in-laws, “Perri, did you hear that little Benny got laid off again?”

“Oh, I _know_!” she replied, and with that the subject had been changed.

Gerard sat quietly for a moment with his hair shielding his face, willing the stinging to leave his throat and eyes, before excusing himself quietly to go to the bathroom.

In front of the mirror Gerard felt his face dry unevenly, in stickier patches under his eyes where a few unwelcome tears had wiggled their way out in the privacy of the bathroom, and in fresher areas around the rest of his skin where he had splashed cool water on his face.

A quiet knock sounded on the door, and Gerard jolted, swiping his hand under his runny nose and grabbing a towel to wipe at his face.

“Just a second!” he called, flushing the toilet and washing his hands for show.

He opened the door to find Frank behind it. He wasn’t smiling pityingly or ruefully at him. Gerard appreciated that.

“Wanna get out of here?” Frank asked, and Gerard nodded gratefully.

On his way out, Gerard kissed his mother on the side of her head and wished her happy birthday again. She squeezed his hand absently, still talking to her family, and Gerard took a shaky breath. He waved halfheartedly at the rest of the family and sent Mikey a look that hopefully conveyed that he would talk to him later. Frank patted Gerard on the back companionably as they passed the threshold into the chilly dusk air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was originally one big chapter with the last chapter but it was too long so it split nicely here :) enjoy! Also, please read the end note; it has some info about eras/looks of the characters

Some time after the sun had set on the night of his mother’s birthday party, Gerard found himself in the passenger seat of Frank’s stalled car, pulled over in an empty lot, with his lap full of fast food. The car ride over had been pleasant—at first there had been a period of unsettled hush, and then Frank launched a conversation with a simple, “Okay, Leia or Padme?” and the two had been occupied until the present moment, when they lapsed into silence and dug into their food. The radio was buzzing an insignificant rock tune in the background.

Suddenly, Frank giggled again, as if remembering something that had been said earlier.

“I just can’t believe you. Leia kicks ass! Padme’s too…establishment,” Frank said.

“You punk!” Gerard snorted, punching Frank’s arm, “I don’t know, though. Padme’s strong—“

“So’s Leia!”

“Shut up, I know, just listen!” Gerard broke off, giggling a bit, before continuing, “ _Emotionally,_ Padme’s strong, emotionally. Like, she just went through so much shit and had it _together_ , y’know? Like, I wish I had that.”

Frank nodded, his lips pursed together as the last couple of giggles slipped out of him.

“Like, I don’t know. Like earlier,” Gerard carried on, and Frank munched on his food quietly, sensing the approach of a more serious subject. They both definitely remembered the mishap at the party, with Gerard’s insensitive uncle and cluelessly cheery aunts.

“We all have our shitty relatives, man,” Frank said solemnly.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s almost like…it’s just not that.”

Gerard paused and Frank allowed the silence to grow while Gerard collected his thoughts and picked at his food. Gerard squinted up through the windshield at the night sky sitting like a blanket above them.

“When I was a kid,” Gerard started, staring at the stars peeking through the branches of barren trees, “I always wanted to jump in a leaf pile.”

Frank laughed a little, startled by the apparent change of subject.

“Yeah,” Gerard said, chuckling a little too, “I know, but that was, like, my goal. I wanted to rake up all the leaves and make this big great pile and just jump right into it. It was the greatest thing, in my mind. But my mom never let me because she didn’t want me to get sick from the cold or whatever, which always seemed like a bullshit reason to me, but anyway... So, like, for years all I wanted was to jump into this stupid leaf pile and I never did.”

“Please tell me you’ve jumped in a leaf pile in your life,” Frank interjected, mock-serious. Instead of the laugh Frank had been expecting, Gerard let out a sigh and a self-deprecating smile.

“No, yeah, I have. I’m not done. So, years later, right? I’m finally old enough or I complained enough or my mom just didn’t fucking care anymore or whatever, right? And she lets me rake up all the leaves and there’s this great moment like, _this is it_ , and I finally get to jump in the leaves, and it’s fucking _shitty_! There’s frost and mud and weird moths and shit everywhere! It was so bad. And it was like all these expectations that I had had were totally ruined. It was devastating.”

Frank trained his eyes on his lap, mouth twisted into a frown as he listened to Gerard speak.

“My mom, she was fine about it. She had expected it. She just cleaned me up and didn’t really mention it. I could just feel the ‘I told you so’ in her expression.”

“I still like watching the leaves fall, though,” Gerard said after a thoughtful moment.

They sat in silence and allowed the story to settle into the space around them. It seemed to bounce off of the music still pumping from the speakers and make the air feel thicker.

“I just,” Gerard started, and then cleared his throat of its slight stickiness, “I just don’t want that to be how being an artist is gonna be.”

At that Frank turned to face Gerard, the meaning behind his story suddenly sinking in.

“It won’t be,” Frank said firmly, setting his food on the compartment between them and lowering the volume on the radio.

“Won’t it, though?” Gerard laughed scornfully. He lifted his head up and looked at Frank before looking back at where he played with his fingers.

“I’m an alcoholic. I’m sober, but I’m still an alcoholic, and I only ever go to the café, and I never meet new people—you heard my mom say it.”

“You met me, though,” Frank said in a concerned voice. Gerard smiled ruefully.

“I don’t really mean friends,” he clarified, and Frank nodded.

“I just—it’s hard,” Gerard said after a moment.

Frank nodded and furrowed his brow. The quiet went on between them for a beat too long and Gerard looked up to find Frank staring forward with an expression that appeared determined but bordered on angry.

“Frank?”

He shook himself and turned to Gerard.

“Okay. I just. Listen to me. Here’s my advice. You don’t want it to be the leaf pile. So don’t let it be.”

“It’s not that simple,” Gerard said, already starting to shake his head.

“Not if you’re not trying. You can’t think of this as a route to defeat, Gerard. It won’t be. You have to make it your prerogative to prove it wrong. Show that motherfucking leaf pile.”

Gerard giggled slightly at that, enraptured by the definitely-not-impersonal passion in Frank’s eyes.

“You’re good, Gerard,” Frank said genuinely, “You have this. You have talent, and you have drive. Don’t self-sabotage because you’re afraid of disappointment, or whatever. You gotta keep doing your art, being spontaneous, _being_ your art. Prove the people who don’t believe in you wrong. And prove the part of yourself that doesn’t believe in you wrong. Prove it wrong too.”

Gerard nodded to himself, then turned to smile at Frank.

“Thank you, Frankie,” he said, watching as Frank regained his composure over whatever fervor had gripped him and became more self-conscious. Frank sighed.

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me though. That might not be the best advice,” Frank said.

“But it’s _your_ advice,” Gerard said.

“Exactly.”

“And that’s what I appreciate. That you gave me your true advice.”

Frank sighed.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is my true advice. It’s how I think about things. But I’ve always felt like I had to prove someone wrong. Authority issues.”

Frank laughed.

“Seems like high school shit, right? But it’s always still there.”

“I don’t think anyone’s really as different from how they were in high school. At least not as much as they’d like to think,” Gerard contemplated.

“I’m definitely not,” Frank agreed, “Not in every way. Some ways, yeah I’ve grown—like the party; I never thought I’d be the type of person to make small talk at a coffee party. Like a real adult.”

“You did a good job, though.”

“I almost wish I didn’t,” Frank said, rubbing his hand on his thigh, “I guess I have this need to combat authority—“

“Your authority issues, right,” Gerard supplied.

“Right. And for the longest time, that authority was parents.”

Gerard nodded in understanding.

“Hell, I’m still doing it. No matter how much trouble it causes me, I’m still fucking doing it for some reason.”

Gerard was curious as to what he meant, but hesitated to ask in case Frank didn’t actually want to share. Frank seemed lost in thought, and it itched at Gerard to prompt him to elaborate. After a moment of restless twitching he finally gave in.

“Like what?” Gerard probed, and Frank let out a little laugh, suggesting there were plenty of examples to give.

“Oh, man,” Frank groaned, rubbing his eyes, “my fucking band. We’ve been having issues lately, yeah? They’ve been calling me nonstop. It’s been making me all scatterbrained.”

This explained the phone calls when they had gone to lunch together, and the fact that Frank had forgotten about the shops prearranged closure, for it was one thing for _Gerard_ to forget a detail like that, but another beast entirely for Frank to have done so.

“We’ve been getting bigger, which is great, sure, but also not good for me. Man, I was so stupid. When we were first starting out, my mom was not for it. She just didn’t want me to put so much into it, wanted to make sure I had a backup or some good help along the way. But y’know, punk-ass just-out-of-high-school me took it as a challenge: to prove her wrong and not do any of that. So I tattooed my fucking neck, gave myself no other option, and never got a fucking manager. I’m still managing my own band.”

Gerard whistled, impressed.

“I know,” Frank said in reply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You know,” Gerard said tentatively, hoping his advice wasn’t unwelcome, “accepting help isn’t accepting defeat.”

“Yeah, I know,” Frank said with a sigh, “I mean, I know all that intellectually, I just. Don’t.”

Gerard could relate.

“It’ll get bad enough one day that I’ll have to snap out of it. Till then it’s just rough.”

“Yeah,” Gerard repeated, “It’s just rough.”

The quiet music from the radio filled their ears, and Gerard peeked at Frank out of the corner of his eyes only to find Frank already looking at him. Gerard’s heart rate increased, and the moths (as he’d taken to calling them) in his stomach were having a riot.

Gerard turned to face Frank fully, and the tension in the air was more palpable than the music as neither of them broke the heavy silence that laid between them. Gerard’s eyes widened, as he could have sworn he saw Frank’s line of sight flit down to his lips, but just then they were interrupted by the shrill chime of Gerard’s cell phone. The moment deflated like a soufflé.

“Hello?” Gerard asked after reorienting himself in his seat and snapping his open.

“Gerard!” Mikey said, completely unaware of the potentially sensational moment he had just ruined. Gerard rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Mikey,” Gerard replied unenthusiastically, glancing at Frank, whose chipper grin seemed forced.

“Where are you? What happened earlier?” Mikey asked.

“I’m with Frank. We got dinner.”

“Oh,” Mikey said, drawing out the vowels suggestively, “Okay, I see how it is.”

Gerard winced and hoped Frank couldn’t hear Mikey’s voice through the phone’s crappy speakers.

“I’ll call you later,” he said hastily and hung up, cutting off Mikey’s cheeky “use protection!”

“Sorry about that,” Gerard said, running a hand through his hair.

“No big deal,” Frank said, “Should I get you home now?”

“Sure,” Gerard said, and Frank started the car, pulling away from the leafless trees and the starry night sky.

“Thank you,” Gerard said once Frank was parked outside Gerard’s apartment, and they both knew that the gratitude was for more than just the ride and the food.

“Thank you, too,” Frank replied genuinely. Gerard smiled a small smile and blushed, moving as if to get out of the car.

“Wait, Gerard,”—Gerard froze in place—“You should come to my show. My band. We’re playing a big show in a couple of weeks, just like a twenty-minute drive from here. I’d really like you to come.”

Gerard’s small smile grew into a beam.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“I’ll text you the details.”

“Good,” Gerard said, lingering with his hand on the door handle for a moment longer, meeting Frank’s eyes, before he exited the vehicle.

“Bye, Frank!” Gerard waved from the sidewalk as Frank’s car pulled away, and Frank made eye contact and waved back through the rearview mirror.

The stars twinkled overhead and the dead leaves crunched underfoot, and despite the heaviness of the evening, from what Gerard could ascertain the feelings blooming in his gut weren’t entirely painful. Unbidden and incongruous, a smile was on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this AU is set in late 2004-ish, after Gerard got sober. It's as if Frank never left Pencey Prep and his look naturally transitioned into his infamous revenge 'hawk. Just fyi so you all can picture things the way i picture them... but, hey, if you had a different interpretation by all means don't let me stop you! Please comment what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> i will try to update as often as i can! i know where i'm going with this story so it's mostly about time restraints  
> (also soñador means dreamer in spanish)


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